


Reverie, a Duet

by flatfelledyetstillundone



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Author is so embarrassed, Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley didn't clarify and I didn't ask, Crowley has whatever parts he wants and I'm sure it changes, Demisexual Crowley (Good Omens), Feelings, Fluff, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Learning to Talk about Big Feelings, Light Angst, No Beta: We Fall Like Crowley, Other, POV Alternating, Quote: Ngk (Good Omens), Smut, Soft!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28719141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flatfelledyetstillundone/pseuds/flatfelledyetstillundone
Summary: “Angel,” he softly spoke, voice husky, tongue tracing the crease between thigh and groin. “I want to make you feel good. Better than good.”“Oh, my dear boy, I already feel quite a bit better than good, I can assure you.” Perfect cheeks flushed pinkly, sweat curled the edges of those fluffy platinum curls. Aziraphale’s pulse was pounding; Crowley could feel it just under a fingertip as he curved his hand around a plush thigh, caressing up toward that fantastic ass. “Oh! Oh, my dear!”THUMPOw.Crowley thought.That one felt like falling from the wall.Right. His bed looked as if he’d tossed and turned as only an occult entity could -- tossing and turning himself right out of gravity’s hold. Crowley blushed.-----Or: Crowley and Aziraphale have both been having rather steamy dreams, of late. Not that they know that the other is suffering the same plight as they are. Oh, no. Because that would involvetalking, wouldn't it?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 93





	Reverie, a Duet

**Author's Note:**

> Author is demisexual and autistic. If you find your experiences with these differ from those represented, I always love hearing about other people’s experiences within their own paradigms! (Provided that they’re well-mannered. I will delete jerkface/mean comments of any sort.)
> 
> Author is also completely mortified that they wrote this. And then posted it. But it seemed like if it all came pouring out through their brain -- wow, those are a lot of words, aren’t they? -- that perhaps the Ineffables had something to say? So it should be shared? Graphically sexy parts and all? (Author goes and hides under a rock, face blazingly red.)
> 
> Um, enjoy the show? ... I'll see you at the end notes, folx.

**Rather a short time after Armageddon’t, as far as eternal beings go:**

_ Crowley grinned wickedly up at Aziraphale as he licked his forked tongue up the inside of a perfectly plush thigh. His perfect Angel was spread out in the middle of his enormous bed, head propped on a soft pillow, cerulean blue eyes wide and Cupid’s bow mouth rounded. Perfect. He was perfect.  _

_ “ _ Angel _ ,” he softly spoke, voice husky, tongue tracing the crease between thigh and groin. “ _ I want to make you feel good. Better than good. _ ” _

_ “ _ Oh, my dear boy, I already feel quite a bit better than good, I can assure you _.” Perfect cheeks flushed pinkly, sweat curled the edges of those fluffy platinum curls. Aziraphale’s pulse was pounding; Crowley could feel it just under a fingertip as he curved his hand around a plush thigh, caressing up toward that fantastic ass. “ _ Oh! Oh, my dear! _ ” _

_ The other hand was once again squeezed hard enough with angelic strength that Crowley’s fingers, laced together with Aziraphale’s and tangled in the bedsheets, momentarily lost feeling. Which was just more of a turn-on, really.  _ He’s that strong in just his fingers. _ Crowley’s eyes rolled up briefly, before he forced them open again; there was no way he would miss a nanosecond of this.  _

_ He had been keeping his eyes up on Aziraphale’s face, but he took a moment to pause and look at the beauty before him. A pile of soft white curls atop a delightfully pink pussy, which was already quite damp, by the look of it. “ _ Mmm? _ ” Crowley gently nosed at the top of Aziraphale’s slit, inhaling the intoxicating scent, and remade eye contact. “ _ Is this alright, Angel? _ ” _

_ It took Aziraphale six entire deep breaths before he answered. Crowley counted. The air developed a static charge. “ _ Yes. Oh. Oh, my dear. Yes. Please do. _ ” Somehow, Aziraphale’s eyes were bluer than before.  _

I can’t believe I get this. Oh, my Angel!,  _ Crowley thought. _

_ Crowley dipped his tongue down, flicking lightly. Again, with a bit more contact. Lower, for longer. Then around Aziraphale’s labia, tracing them: outer, inner, between. Aziraphale clamped his hand onto his mouth. Crowley paused. “ _ Can be as loud as you want, Angel. Flat’s soundproofed. _ ” He licked again. “ _ Yeah? _ ” Tongue up and around the clitoral hood, a quick flick at the base. Aziraphale’s eyes half-closed as he moaned and cried out. _

_ “ _ So good. You’re so good. That’s my Angel. _ ” Crowley sucked Aziraphale’s clit while massaging his fantastically plump ass.  _

_ Aziraphale voiced a range of sounds which Crowley had previously catalogued as varying levels of delight -- they both got something out of fine dining, after all; the angel got fine food, the demon got to listen to the angel.  _

_ An increase in the sweet musky smell of Aziraphale’s delightful cunt, combined with the circulation-inhibiting grip on his hand -- and of course the moans of ecstasy -- let Crowley know that he’d given his Angel at least one orgasm. Crowley smiled. Time for more. He stopped sucking and moved his face downward, nuzzling his nose against his Angel’s clit and licking his tongue into the glorious wetness. This was better than any alcohol humanity would ever create. _

_ “ _ Crowley! Crowley! _ ” Aziraphale panted as Crowley fucked into him with a serpentine tongue. Crowley hummed. Aziraphale lost coherency, babbling and crying out, alternating between gripping the sheets wildly and gently caressing Crowley’s hair.  _

_ Crowley could feel Aziraphale trembling beneath him; Aziraphale had been unconsciously rocking his pelvis up into Crowley’s mouth for some time. It was close -- Crowley took a moment to withdraw his tongue and speak: “ _ Angel. Come for me. My Angel. I’ve got you. Come, _ ” and then he delved his tongue in deep and fast while pressing his nose firmly into Aziraphale’s clit. _

_ “ _ AH! Crowley!! Yours! Yes, please, yours! _ ” his Angel screamed, convulsing. _

THUMP

_ Ow _ . Crowley thought.  _ That one felt like falling from the wall _ . Right. His bed looked as if he’d tossed and turned as only an occult entity could -- tossing and turning himself right out of gravity’s hold. Crowley blushed. With a dream that… ahem, vivid… it was not terribly shocking to see the blankets thrown to the four corners of the room and a pillow on the far nightstand instead of the touch lamp that had been there and was probably now on the floor. Not as bad as that time he’d accidentally spontaneously combusted a pillow. Or that time he gnawed through the sheets. Or the time he… Just nevermind. Crowley blushed harder. Squishy bits. Just: ugh. They never acted up unless the angel was around; then they  _ really _ acted up. He should really clean up, maybe take a shower.

Crowley’s phone chose that exact moment to ring itself right off his nightstand and onto his toes. “Ow! Oi, you! I oughtta…” but it was Aziraphale’s ringtone, so the threat was empty and both Crowley and his phone knew it.   


Right. Act cool. “Angel,” he drawled, “to what do I owe the pleasure -- “ poor word choice -- “at… 3:30 am?” with a glance at the clock and only slightly raised eyebrow, he managed to finish his question with a reasonably smooth drawl.  _ Good enough. Aziraphale won’t notice. _

“Oh, ah, Crowley! Hello!” Aziraphale never failed to sound surprised to hear Crowley’s voice on the other end of the line, despite being the one who called. Perhaps in another decade or three he’d get used to it? Pfft, nah. Probably right around the time everyone stopped using calls entirely. “How are you this, ah, morning, my dear?”

Crowley would die before he gave the full honest answer to that question. There was no way the angel needed to know the state of his pyjamas. Damn his squishy bits. “Fantastic.You?”

Aziraphale sounded flustered and tense as he airly replied, “Lovely, lovely… Oh, I didn’t wake you did I? I did. I’m so sorry, Crowley, I didn’t look at the clock before I --”

“No, it’s fine, Angel. I was awake.” Only just. Didn’t matter.

“Splendid, splendid. Ahh…” Aziraphale had been like this off and on since Armageddon’t. So had Crowley, in his own way. Six thousand years of hiding from superiors, doing a job that increasingly chafed against one’s ethics like pants full of sand, while fraternizing with your hereditary enemy tends to cause a certain amount of ‘emotional baggage’. A freight train’s worth. Or several. All of which they now had to unpack. To be fair, they were working on that -- individually and jointly. That’s what best friends were for, after all.

Best friends. Yes. Which, of course, led back to: “Angel.” Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose and ran his hand up through his hair which was absolutely not messed up from his flinging. “Rough night? Do you want me to come over? It’s not a problem. You know I like coming over.” He was already up and snapping a miracle to tidy himself and his room. Shower and squishy bits could wait.

Through the line, Aziraphale sounded relieved. “Would you? Oh dear, only if it’s not too much trouble. I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

At the door and heading to the Bentley, Crowley crooned, “Not at all. On my way. See you in a few. Ciao.”

******

Aziraphale’s buzzing brain abruptly silenced as it processed what Crowley had just said. (He’d sauntered in, woodsmoke and tannins, to rescue the angel from the terrifying spiral of his own dark worries. Aziraphale was so blessed to have Crowley; unsure of the ineffability of Crowley’s devotion; yet willing to accept it anyway. Every ship at sea needed an anchor. Clearly, Crowley was his.) “Ok, slow down, Angel. Have some tea.” Crowley was violating the laws of physics by scrunching himself up out of what had been yet another improbable slump on the couch into a foot-planted (reasonably) upright position, spindly arms stretching across the tea table to pour a cup of tea for Aziraphale.

_ You go too fast. _

_No_ , the angel thought, _I go too slow. I’m always running and I never catch up. And he’s always so patient, and, and now_ **_he’s_** _telling_ **_me_** _to_ **_slow down_** _?_ Aziraphale’s corporation sat nearly frozen, all fidgeting stopped. Watching. Watching Crowley make him tea. 

Crowley had made him tea plenty of times over the centuries. He always knew exactly how Aziraphale took each type; it was delightful. But those times -- well, most of them -- had been in the past, when Aziraphale couldn’t see his eyes. (And could Aziraphale really be blamed for not noting it before? He had been immersed in a first edition of “The Mysteries of Udolpho”, and well.) It had been months since Crowley last wore his sunglasses in the back of the bookshop; if they were alone, his glasses were off, that was part of the new… developments. Now, Aziraphale could see: Crowley’s eyes never left Aziraphale’s face. His fingers spidered their way through the process of adding a dash of milk, two lumps of sugar, maneuvering the teacup into position right in front of Aziraphale, even turning the handle to perfectly line up for Aziraphale to grasp it as he lifted the teacup, nail lacquer glinting all the while. (Midnight blue, today.) But his eyes? They maintained their vigil, the Pharos of Alexandria, lighting his way back from the darkness of his thoughts. Crowley knew how Aziraphale could get when lost to his own thoughts; patiently, the demon would guide him back, every time.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley’s arms retracted, positioned themselves elbow-on-knee, fingers-steepled, chin-on-thumb, nose to index finger. Crowley waited.  _ Crowley always waits. _ Aziraphale drew in a shaky breath and took up his teacup, took a sip (Darjeeling), calmed himself. Set down his cup. Straightened his bowtie, waistcoat, jacket.

Crowley slowly smiled, caught whatever Aziraphale had been about to say and escorted it firmly out the door of the bookshop like an unwanted customer. “There you are, Angel. Feeling better now?”   


“Yes, quite, thank you, Crowley,” and he realized as he said it that he really was feeling better. Clearer. More grounded and less like his mind was spinning out of control. This was why he had called Crowley; they had agreed to contact the other when needed, even if it seemed little. (Why were the little things the hardest? They had faced the End Times and muddled through, hadn’t they?) Even, no especially, if it was emotional fallout. Their Own Side: this was the New, Better, Arrangement.

Crowley bonelessly gestured with an arm and slithered back to a sprawl across the cushions. “Nah. S’nothing. You do the same for me.” He winked and grinned with those sharply sparkling, white teth.

Just like that, Aziraphale found himself smiling, too. “Well, I suppose I should try to sort through this a bit, though I confess that I’m at a loss as to where to start.”

“Pick a thought, Angel; start there. We’re both getting the hang of this.”

Aziraphale let his senses draw in comfort from his surroundings. The muscatel notes of his tea, the soft chime of the bone china as cup met saucer. Soft, warm light from the lamps sparking the dust motes. The soft weight of his favorite suit on his corporation, pressing just the right amount at the waistcoat, soothing him. The scents of his bookshop -- so many, swirled together into a scent all it’s own, comprised of paper, glue, leather, wood, cloth, ink, dust, and that elusive scent that all book enthusiasts endeavored to describe. (Aziraphale privately thought it was one of those ineffable things, a human-made miracle as it were, and so sacred that it defied perfect description. He was such a blasphemous angel, no wonder he didn’t fit in.) And demon, the tantalizing musk of Crowley woven throughout as golden threads might highlight a halo on a religious tapestry. This was his home, warded and cherished. He was safe here. All that he loved was safe here. He could set down the crushing weight of his worries here.

He cleared his throat. Wiggled into a more comfortable position. “I suppose it began, as it often does, with a reminder of my own feelings of, of. Inadequacy. ‘Poor self-esteem,’ thank you, Crowley for the new terminology. Clever humans.” Another snort and dismissive wave from Crowley. “And then… it just overwhelmed me. Rapidly.” His voice wavered, and though he knew it was part of this new ‘communication’ process -- when had that word changed meaning? -- it still filled him with discomfort. He took a deep breath to still it. “I remembered that I should call you! So I did.”

“And that,” Crowley said, pointing at him, “was exactly the right thing to have done.” As one raises more wick to increase the light of a gas lamp, so this encouragement from Crowley increased the light in Aziraphale’s own self. It didn’t matter how this spiral had started. It didn’t matter what Heaven had said of him -- it didn’t, and if he said it firmly enough to himself enough times, he would believe it just as Crowley clearly did, and oh, he trusted Crowley. To Heaven and Hell themselves and back. He would be fine, truly well; he was deserving. They could and would learn how to navigate this beautiful world together. Yes, it would be alright.

The two man-shaped beings softly talked, even as the first rays of the sun cast beams through the windows of the shop. Yes, feelings were hard; yes, they’d both been traumatized; but they were in this together.

******

**Somewhat over 200,000 breaths later:**

_ Aziraphale worked kisses along Crowley’s neck, from just behind one ear, down and around, to just behind the other. Such lovely hitches and hisses in his darling demon’s breathing! Crowley tasted better than he smelled; so delicious. Musk, spices, earth. _

_ He raised his chin to be able to kiss Crowley on the lips again, which Crowley seized on immediately, pressing his mouth to Aziraphale’s, lips working against one another. Soft. Sliding. Tasting. Pressing. Aziraphale moaned into Crowley’s mouth; Crowley dipped his tongue into Aziraphale’s mouth. _

_ Momentarily, they parted, noses touching. Aziraphale gazed into Crowley’s eyes adoringly. “ _ My dear, _ ” he put all the weight of his love into the plausibly-not-a-term-of-endearment that he had hidden in plain sight all these centuries. “ _ I hope you know how absolutely delectable you are _.” _

_ Crowley’s eyes were already fully blown amber and topaz; with Aziraphale’s purred words, his slitted pupils widened into ovals. He moaned. “ _ Angel _.” He leaned forward to seize Aziraphale’s mouth once more, but the angel evaded.  _

_ " _ Ah-ah, my greedy fiend! Patience _.” _

_ Crowley scoffed. “ _ M’not patient. Demon, me _ ,” and tried again. _

_ Aziraphale used his nose and nudged Crowley’s chin up, slid his pink tongue delicately down Crowley’s Adam’s apple, to suck a love bite into the hollow at the base of Crowley’s throat.  _ (“Ngk!”) _ He sucked kisses down Crowley’s sternum as he unwrapped Crowley from his shirt, one button at a time. Swirling his tongue at the center of Crowley’s sternum, he paused and crooned, “ _ Oh, I dispute that, my dear boy. I shan’t hesitate to point out precisely how patient you have proven yourself to be _.” _

_ Crowley panted, clearly trying not to arch his back up into Aziraphale’s ministrations. Aziraphale was on top of him, and feeling the Serpent of Eden squirming and writhing beneath him made his Effort fill even more, pressing harder through his trousers. “ _ Ahh! _ ” Crowley would likely deny the delightful noises he was making, but that didn’t stop Aziraphale from enjoying every gasp, every cry. A symphony of love, indeed. _

_ Crowley’s shirt was fully parted, now, so Aziraphale reared up to drink in the sight of his beloved as he slipped the last of it to the side. The position pressed his hips further down onto Crowley’s thigh -- more moans -- and Aziraphale emphasized the pressure by grinding downward and wiggling just a bit to make it quite clear what Crowley’s effect on him was, physically.  _

_ “ _ You are so very beautiful, my dear. So very. _ ” Aziraphale trailed his soft, manicured fingers up and down Crowley’s front while humming happily. Crowley tossed his head in a weak negative. “ _ Oh, but you are _.” His hands reached the singularly heart stopping crest of Crowley’s sinful hips; he traced a finger along each curve -- up the curve, down, along the top of those ridiculous jeans, where he stopped at the button, circling it with a fingertip. He pressed his left thigh up into the fork of Crowley’s legs, rubbing, all while continuing to grind down. Crowley was panting, his pupils nearly square with arousal. “ _ May I _?” Crowley nodded vigorously, coming into control of his limbs enough to begin stroking any part of Aziraphale he could reach: arms, shoulders, front, thigh. _

_ “ _ Angel, can I _?” Crowley picked at the fabric still swathing Aziraphale -- most of his suit, with the exception of his bowtie and jacket, which had already been removed.  _

_ Aziraphale smiled and leaned forward just enough to make it easier for Crowley to undo the buttons on his waistcoat (and incidentally apply even more pressure to both of their groins). Once more around the button on Crowley’s jeans and then he deftly popped it open, slid the zipper down, slid his fingers in, down between the material of the jeans and Crowley’s pants. Down…  _

_ “ _ Ahh!! Angel! Please!! _ ” _

_ “ _ Mmm, yes, my dear? Do you need something? A moment to breathe perhaps? _ ” Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled at his lover and he licked his lips. _

_ “ _ Please, please, _ ” Crowley panted. “ _ I need you -- touch me. Please!! _ ” _

_ Aziraphale hummed and slid his hand back up to the elastic band of Crowley’s pants. Then under, in, and down. As his hand slid down to cup his lover’s Effort, he braced himself on one arm and leaned forward to press their now-bare chests together and kiss his beloved. His hand worked; his tongue worked. Oh. So soft. So smooth. So blissful. To at last have this.  _

_ “ _ Crowley _ ,” he moaned, as Crowley’s cries crescendoed and spilled into a keening cry of culmination. “ _ Oh, my dear! Oh, Crowley! _ ” His world went white as he crested his own wave of pleasure, spilling out, gloriously undone. _

Aziraphale jerked awake as his corporation’s chin dipped into bubbles. A dream? ‘Just a dream,’ as the humans would say. Though he’d only slept deliberately twice in his life, Aziraphale had nodded off plenty of times -- perhaps even a few hundred times -- often over a familiar book in the comfort of his armchair. Since Armaggeddon’t, he’d taken to nodding off more often. He’d been concerned enough to mention it to Crowley, but they’d jointly concluded that his corporation (well, his whole self, really) had been through quite a bit of stress in the last 12 years so a bit of rest really would do it good. Nodding off in the bath, though? That was a new one. Of course, he had been thinking rather  _ fondly _ of Crowley as he relaxed in the warm water scented with lavender-rosemary bath salts.

He knew Crowley loved him. That was obvious. That it was returned was clearly equally obvious. It had been impossible to miss as they’d brushed past each other while swapping corporations. It was just that Crowley was not so much into explorations of the range of sensations possible within their human corporations as he was. The Fall and his experiences in Hell had done nothing to encourage that sort of  _ joie de vivre _ . That was more Aziraphale’s department, really. Fine drink, certainly. Food, only the choicest bites at Aziraphale’s insistence. Fine clothing to Crowley was all about fashion, not sensation -- oh the feel of the weaves, the fibers. Delightful. Crowley did appreciate art quite a bit, certainly. Sex and the more intimate arts? Certainly not; Crowley had made that point clear enough back in the time of the Roman Empire. Perhaps… perhaps someday Aziraphale might work up the nerve to ask Crowley his feelings regarding a more… physical relationship between them. Cuddling, perhaps.

The difficulty was really in how to raise the subject without upsetting Crowley. His dear, patient, loving Crowley.

_ Oh, bother. Why do I go so slow? _ Aziraphale thought. He decided he was finished in the bath. A cup of tea was in order, clearly. That would brighten his mood and take his mind off of things.

******

“Ahhh!!” Crowley’s eyes opened to inform him that he’d shredded off his clothes as well as kicked off his sheets during the course of that particular dream. Go- Sa- Somebody, what he wouldn’t give to have that a reality.

_ You go too fast for me. _

_ Fuck _ . A cold shower. That would help. Yep.

And then he’d go to the bookshop. Because that was what he did.

_ Yep, _ he thought,  _ Help Angel chase off some customers. Take a nap on the couch. Maybe go out for sushi. It’s a good plan. _ He sauntered off to the shower.

******

**Almost 520,000 heartbeats after that shower:**

“Well, I’m so sorry that we couldn’t be of help to you. Do have a lovely day!” Aziraphale politely finished as he closed the door behind the disappointed (though ultimately quite sweet) customer. They had been looking for help researching same-sex couples throughout Russian history as part of a project, and they had heard that A.Z. Fell and Co. not only specialized in rare and hard to find books, but was known to be friendly to the LGBTQA+ community. Hopeful, they’d come to Soho to try their luck. Little did they know that they had, indeed, been lucky -- in finding the bookshop open, in not desiring to part Aziraphale with any of his prized volumes, and in generally getting on the angel’s good side. Sent along with a small Blessing, they would quite literally run into a delightful Pakistani woman that evening, while bussing their tea items at a nearby cafe. The two would laugh about the collision, mention their reasons for being in Soho, and then discover a series of fantastic coincidences that would lead them both to what they needed. (In the case of the Pakistani woman, it would be a lifelong friend who understood how one could feel lonely in a crowded room. The end of the year would see the two of them laughing together while painting mehndi and drinking champagne to the toast of “to best friends!”)

Aziraphale smiled and flipped the sign to “Closed”. He straightened his bowtie, waistcoat, jacket and lovingly gazed at his bookshop in the afternoon light. He would make cocoa and read while Crowley finished his nap. (It was so very lovely, how much time Crowley spent here at the shop, these days. Since Armmageddon’t, there was no need to be apart to divert attention and prevent suspicion. If Crowley wanted to nap on the couch daily, he was very much welcome to. That he had been doing daily for the last 19 days may have contributed to Aziraphale’s good mood.) Aziraphale was part of the way through a lovely refurbished copy of “The Romance of the Forest”, another of Ms. Ann Radcliffe’s works, and very much enjoying it. With a little hum and a happy wiggle, he walked into the back of the shop to do just that.

******

_ They were in the back of the bookshop, in the tiny kitchenette. Crowley had sauntered after Aziraphale for whatever reason -- it wasn’t even clear to him why, now. He couldn’t remember. All higher brain functions had stopped a while ago, some time around when Aziraphale had turned to him and announced,  _ “Well, it’s no wonder, either, given that your hips are pure sin.”

_ Crowley had spluttered some string of consonants, leaving the bastard angel the opening to continue:  _ “Oh, surely, Crowley, you must know. I’d always been under the impression you walked that way deliberately. That perhaps it was easier on your corporation or some such -- I mean you are a serpent. The Serpent! What? Why are you looking at me like that? I think your hips are lovely. Terribly seductive.”

_ Crowley had just hissed like a tyre leaking air. His cheeks matched his hair, and he wished he could hide behind his sunglasses only they were in the other room.  _

_ Aziraphale had smirked at his blush, said something that Crowley couldn’t even begin to process, words like “pure sin”, “lovely”, and “terribly seductive” still clanging around in his head like, like --  _

_ At some point, the kissing had started. And the touching. Oh, Someone, the touching. He wanted more of that, definitely. His Angel’s warm hands on his skin -- shirt had come off somewhen,  _ Pretty sure I did that. I remember him getting his own jacket and waistcoat… Oh, he’s so soft. Softer than I’d imagined. So, so… 

_ “ _ You’re blushing that far down? I’m complimented, my dear. I didn’t know I had such a visceral effect on you. _ ” _

Ngk _. _

_ He wrapped himself more around his soft, strong, warm Angel. He smelled so good. Felt so good. Skin against skin. Crowley couldn’t help it; he moaned. _

_ Aziraphale looked the few inches up at him, blue eyes doing that amazing glittering thing they did. His skin softly glowed, even.  _ “Crowley, oh Crowley, I love you, my dear.”

“Angel. Love. You,” _ and then he was making those horrible, embarrassing noises again. Things took on a wibbly, watery appearance for a moment. Aziraphale reached up to his face and ran those soft beautiful fingers up under Crowley’s eyes. The blurriness went away. _

_ Aziraphale kissed the tears -- tears?! Snakes don’t cry. -- off his fingertips. Then softly kissed Crowley’s lips, Crowley’s cheeks, Crowley’s eyes, Crowley’s forehead… One or both of them was humming, like a purr. Crowley felt the hardness of the counter against his right hip; the two of them must be leaning against it. _

_ Hands slid, mouths moved.  _ Oh, S-somebody, if squishy bits make this feel this good then they can’t be all that bad, _ Crowley thought. He could feel Aziraphale’s hardness pressing against him, insistent. Crowley hummed a question into Aziraphale’s mouth as he traced his fingers down toward Aziraphale’s trousers. Aziraphale guided his hand to the belt buckle, let him free his rapidly filling cock. But then, Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s hand back up, pressed the knobby knuckles of the demon’s hand one by one to his perfect, angelic lips. _

“My dear, let me do something for you. Let me make you feel how much you are loved,” _ Aziraphale breathed onto the back of Crowley’s hand.  _ “Please, may I?” _ He pulled back enough to get a good look at Crowley’s face. _

“Yeah. Okay, yeah. Anything, Angel,” _ Crowley would literally do anything for Aziraphale. Angel knew that, right? _

“I’ll go slow. I want you to tell me if you want me to stop or do something different, ok?” _ Crowley nodded vigorously.  _

_ With that, Aziraphale divested Crowley of his shoes, socks, trousers, and pants.  _

“Crowley, my dear, you are the most beautiful thing in Creation,” _ Aziraphale crooned, looking him up and down.  _

“Y’only think that ‘cause y’ can’t see yourself,” _ Crowley gasped out, as Aziraphale gently walked him back onto the edge of the counter and ever so gently  _ **_pushed_ ** _ him up onto it. Crowley whimpered again at the show of strength.  _

_ Slowly, Aziraphale lowered himself into a kneeling position, deliberately and softly planting kisses down one side of Crowley -- then back up the other side to the hip. Those gorgeous eyes looked up and Aziraphale quietly said,  _ “Yes?” _ His head was exactly at groin level on Crowley. _

“Yes,” _ Crowley whispered. _

_ Aziraphale made a noise like the dessert cart had just gone past and kissed his way inward. Those perfect hands slid up and cupped Crowley’s ass, then scooted him forward again, pressing Crowley up against his face as his mouth -- _

“Ssss! _ ” Crowley threw his head back in reflex. His heart was a drum. His lungs were on fire. It was like being electrocuted, but in a good way. A really good way. Aziraphale, connoisseur that he was, could move his lips and mouth  _ **_very_ ** _ delicately, it seemed. Lower brain function might have disappeared for a bit, too; definitely Crowley was forgetting to breathe now and then. _

_ After a while, Aziraphale stood back up and smiled mischievously at Crowley. Ah, what a glorious bastard! Crowley was swaying a little where he sat, so he clutched at Aziraphale to keep steady. Aziraphale kissed him, deeply, mouth still wet from going down on him. Crowley’s mouth opened, took it all in, Aziraphale, the taste of himself, all of it. _

More. Ah, I never want this to stop. “Angel. Angel,” _ Crowley kept murmuring between wet, messy kisses. Aziraphale was breathing his name into his lips. He was so close, but Crowley wanted him closer. If he could just open himself up and offer himself up for his Angel to crawl inside, he would.  _ “Angel, oh please. Please, I need you closer. I want you closer. Please?”

_ Aziraphale cradled his cheek to gaze at him; Crowley felt like they were blurring together. Would he melt? Did he care if he did? No, sounded good.  _ “Are you sure, my dear? I don’t want you to feel that I am rushing you. I love you just as you are.”

“Please,” _ Crowley wined. He pulled at Aziraphale with arms and legs and mouth. “ _ You don’t have to -- if you don’t want to -- If, if…”

“Yes,” _ said Aziraphale. He finished taking his trousers and pants the rest of the way off. His cock was wet at the tip.  _ “Yes, I do, Crowley. Oh, my dear, I very much do want.” _ They both trembled, but in a way that spoke of anticipation, not trepidation. Aziraphale pressed forward, slowly and carefully, one hand guiding. _

_ Things were somehow more slippery than what Crowley had expected, even with his many comments over the centuries about how humans engaging in sex were all slippery and sticky. It was a good -- no, a brilliant -- slippery. An amazing slippery. It was a gliding, stretching, pressing… oh, filling. He could feel Aziraphale inside himself.  _

_ His Angel was sliding into him. He was around his Angel. They were together, in one space. OH.  _

_ It made a lot more sense why humans might like this particular activity.  _

_ Aziraphale was pressed flush up against him, still. Holding him closely.  _ “Crowley. I love you so much. More than anything. You are perfect, just the way you are.” _ Crowley could see the wet in Aziraphale’s eyes, through that dratted blurry in his own. What was going on with his eyes, again? Not tears, can’t be. Demons don’t cry. Demons don’t do a lot of things, like love. Or love angels. Or have angels love them. Or... _

_ What was that thing that clanged like that? Alarms? Why was he thinking of alarms? _

_ He was pretty certain he shouldn’t be thinking of alarms at a time like this.  _ A time like what?

Fuck. Another blessed dream. __

With that, Crowley woke, spread-eagled on the couch in the bookshop, every nerve blazing. Thankfully, still fully dressed.  _ Somebody, what if Aziraphale had been right there? _ Crowley’s internal monologue howled. Quieter, nearly a whisper, it spoke:  _ Wouldn’t that have been nice, though? _   
  
Would it? He didn’t know. He curled into a ball and tried his hardest not to whimper. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. He’d survived these fantasies for so long -- ones more vivid, even, by far! These were so much more intense, so much more  **real** , now. How -- how? -- could he tell Aziraphale that he was so greedy as to want even more than what the angel was already lavishing him with? They were holding hands, talking about Big Feelings, for Someone’s sake! Why would Aziraphale want  _ that _ with  _ him _ ? He curled tight enough that his bones creaked.

******

_ Oh, dear me! _ Aziraphale’s cheeks burned. The cocoa! Was it burned? It seemed not. (The cocoa would never dream of being anything other than exactly how Aziraphale wanted it. Just as there were always enough fluffy marshmallows in the cupboard despite the angel never remembering to shop for them.) Thank goodness. It would have been such a shame. And if it had caught actual fire, the wards would have triggered, Crowley would have woken from his nap in a panic, and… oh it would have been a disaster! To get so distracted while cooking! And with such unlikely fantasies, too.

Aziraphale scolded himself and got his favorite winged mug filled properly before heading to his comfiest chair to read near Crowley. Only when he got there, Crowley was curled up in a tight curl on the couch -- not at all usual for him -- and making the tiniest (and therefore most deniable) whimpers. 

His mug knew better than to spill a drop as Aziraphale set it down all in a hurry, hustling to Crowley’s side in a flurry of hands and arms. (Perhaps a sound of feathers on another plane, too.) “Oh, Crowley! Crowley, I say are you alright? A nightmare? --”   
  
Crowley twitched and jumped straight up -- nearly colliding with Aziraphale’s head, as the angel had managed to make it nearly to stooping over his dearest friend -- and onto an unlikely perch on the couch back. “Angel! Gah! Don’t -- don’t startle me like that!”

Oh. He’d done something wrong, then. He was just so worried; even with the layers upon layers of wards they’d both put around the (recently refurbished, thank you, Adam) shop, Crowley sometimes still had nightmares of the shop and angel burning to cinders. Aziraphale straightened up. Bowtie. Waistcoat. Jacket. Breathe. Yes, there: better.

Seeing Aziraphale do that must have snapped Crowley out of it -- or else he finally finished waking up -- because Crowley climbed down off the back of the couch and onto the seat cushion in a more or less proper sitting position. 

He ran his hand through his hair as his pupils contracted back down to slits. “Sorry, Angel. ‘M sorry. Didn’t mean to shout.” He reached a hand out placatingly before dropping it back down to his knee. Aziraphale wished he’d left it out for just a moment longer. Perhaps he might’ve taken it. They touched more now than ever, but it was still such a rare and wonderful thing. Aziraphale savored every contact. And holding Crowley’s hand might have helped calm his poor demon.

“No, my dear boy, it’s quite alright. You’ve no need to apologize! None whatsoever! Is there… anything I can do for you right now? Something to make you feel better?” Crowley’s eyes snapped up to his rather wildly and he froze. “I’ve just finished making some cocoa; a cup of that, perhaps?”

Crowley’s body seemed to regain some of it’s normal sinuousness as he nodded, “Mm, yeah. Ssounds great, Angel. Thanksss.” He flashed one of the smiles that Aziraphale knew meant  _ I’m not great, but I’m getting better, _ and Aziraphale’s whole self lit up in response. He hadn’t done anything incorrectly and he was helping out.

“Wonderful! I’ll be right back.” The angel hustled to get a second mug of cocoa put together for his dearest companion. (He poured it into the lovely snake mug he’d found at a country Market. The potter had wound coils of clay around to form the body of the mug, and then brought the head up and around to look like the clay snake was dipping its nose in to sample the mug’s contents. The color of the glaze wasn’t quite right, but it was still a lovely mug, and Aziraphale did so enjoy watching Crowley drink from it.)

Meanwhile, his dearest companion collapsed backward on the couch and tried to get his corporation back under some semblance of control after his embarrassingly realistic dream.

******

**57,600 angelic blinks pass before:**

It was late enough that it had come back around to being early, and conversation had gained increasingly long pauses between sections. But that was the beauty of their relationship, Aziraphale felt. They were just as comfortable being together in silence as they were otherwise, sometimes even more so. 

He smiled contentedly to himself and pulled the newer printing of Mr. Whitman’s “Calamus” onto his lap to begin reading it. Reading glasses perched on his nose, Aziraphale even opened the book (to where he had left off: the latter part of Poem 9 -- “Does he too harbor his friendship silent and endless?”), but his eyes failed to see the words on the page. Instead, his mind drifted, peacefully, along the lines of thought that they’d already begun to trace. How happy he was with Crowley. How well-understood he felt. How much he loved his demon and felt loved in return. Accepted for who he was. Permitted to be anxious, yes, but also permitted to be brave.   
  
Perhaps, then, it is not surprising that he drifted into a waking dream of sorts.

******

_ “ _ Well, Angel, best be off, then _ ,” Crowley slapped his knees, then rose from his spot on the couch. He’d not yet slipped his sunglasses on -- he did that close to the front door, these days, just as he was saying his farewells over his shoulder, but before he turned the doorknob. _

_ “ _ Truly? _ ” Aziraphale responded, setting aside “Calamus” and his reading glasses. “ _ It’s so late -- why not just stay? We could have breakfast once the cafe down the street opens.” _ He rose, too, and took a step towards Crowley. To escort him out, perhaps. Or to block him. It wasn’t clear, even in his own mind. Yet, Crowley had only taken two steps. Had not yet passed him. _

_ And now they stood only a meter apart. Stopped, briefly. On hold, but not holding. _

_ Aziraphale realized that was what he wanted: to hold Crowley. To sit with him, quietly, holding one another through the night. But, was it too much? Would it frighten off his quicksilver fiend? He took a hesitant step forward, arm stretched out just a bit. _

“Angel? Y’ok?” _ Crowley ducked his chin, just a hair, to get a clearer look at his friend’s face. A half step forward. The two were now only one step apart. Aziraphale’s other arm had somehow risen, not at his bidding, both hands hovering a centimeter above Crowley’s chest. They were faintly trembling.  _ “Hey, Angel? Lemme get you some tea. You’re shaking. Here, let’s get you sat down --”

_ Crowley left hand had taken Aziraphale’s right, likely to help his friend turn back towards the wingback chair, his leaves of grass, and his inability to just say what he truly wanted out of forever --  _

“No!” _ Aziraphale stood his ground and grasped his dearest friend’s shoulder with his free hand. Half a step apart, the space between them warmed quickly with radiant heat. The same breath passed between them, back and forth, in a new kind of intimacy, from one superfluous set of lungs to another. In, out. In, out. Ten times. (Aziraphale counted.) The entire time, Crowley searched his face, looking for something. Did he find it? _

“Angel, you’re worrying me. What’s going on?”

“I… I need to tell you something. Something important and difficult to say,” _ Aziraphale’s thumb rubbed against Crowley’s jacket, reassuring them both. _

“Ok. I’ll wait and let you get it out.” _ This was new, part of their work on Big Feelings. Aziraphale could see Crowley’s pulse hammering at his throat.  _ Focus, Aziraphale.

“I should very much like to -- no, that’s not it. I am very happy with how close we are now. It’s hard, sometimes, to say things when I’m so used to keeping it all hidden. And I know -- I know -- that it’s equally, if not more, challenging for you. I do! Oh, Crowley, I am so, so very glad you trust me with your honest feelings…”  _ Crowley made the sound he’d started using when he suspected Aziraphale was getting off track. _ Right. “Ahem. I know that you are not as physical with your affection as -- no, that’s not it, either. You have very good reasons to dislike physical contact. Yes. That’s it. I… should very much like to ask you if you would -- if you would like to try more physical contact. More  _ romantic _ physical contact. Perhaps. Perhaps even…  _ sexual _ ?”  _ The last faded down to a mere whisper. _

_ Crowley stopped breathing. (The breath was disappointed, but not overly so. After all, it had circulated between an ethereal and occult being for nearly 35 full rounds -- having had to stop at half a circuit when Crowley stopped. How many breaths could say as much before fading out?)  _

_ Crowley’s breathing re-started, but he swayed. Aziraphale clutched at him with both hands, thinking perhaps he would pass out from shock or somesuch. It put them nose-to-nose. Both of their eyes flicked back and forth between eye contact and staring at the other’s lips. _

_ With a gasp and a push, Crowley took two long steps back. Well out of reach. A tiny broken sound escaped Aziraphale’s lips before he bit down to keep himself quiet. _

_ “ _ No. No! _ ” Crowley struck himself on the head with both of his hands, hard. “ _ NO! No more! No more -- this is too real! I can’t do this! _ ” He began to pace, circling around Aziraphale as a centerpoint. The starmaker held by gravity. “ _ WAKE UP, BLESS IT, YOU SSTUPID SSSNAKE!! _ ” _

Wake up? _ Aziraphale looked from him, back over his shoulder, to his chair. “Calamus” and his reading glasses on the table next to it. Crowley muttered and pulled at his own hair, pinched his own arms, struck himself on the forehead. _ I was going to read. Crowley had nodded off?

Have I nodded off? Is this a dream? If it is, then I should…

**_Wake up!_ ** _ the angel commanded. _

  
  


His book fell out of his lap and onto the ground with a loud THUMP! Aziraphale’s eyes refocused and snapped up to see Crowley also jolt awake.

******

**_Wake up!_ ** Echoed as Crowley’s head jerked up from where it had drooped as he sat, propped forward on bony knees. It  _ had _ been a dream, he knew it! His eyes snapped up to see Aziraphale looking at him.

“We were dreaming,” Aziraphale announced, quite seriously. “Together. In the same dream.”

“Fuck!” Crowley swore emphatically and dropped his head into his hands. He dug his nails into his scalp while the heels of his palms rubbed his eyes.  _ Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK! _

_ If I can cry in dreams, can I cry in real life?  _ Crowley wondered. _ Because this? This would be the straw that does it. I just… I give up. _

Aziraphale’s voice insistently broke through his self-pity session. “Crowley. My dear boy. I know you are upset. You have every right to be. I promise you that I will remain focused and not allow myself a single moment to daydream or nod off until I’ve solved this conundrum. But, Crowley, I need you to hear this, to listen to me for a moment. Can you please do that?”

“‘M listening,” he muttered into his hands. He was, too -- he just didn’t see how it could change anything. For whatever reason, he didn’t even consider sex with anyone but Aziraphale, but Aziraphale was going to think he was a depraved hornball. No, worse: a depraved demon.

“Crowley, I meant every word.”

“Yep,” Crowley even popped the ‘p’, “I know; you’re brilliant, Angel. You’ll solve it.” Because it needed solving. Because ripping his heart bare every waking moment with his best friend wasn’t enough -- no, it had to be half the time he was asleep, too. Or, well, a quarter -- some percentage of the sleeping time, alright? This needed to end so he could salvage the remains of his broken heart -- again.  _ Things had been going so well; couldn’t have too much of that, now, could we? _

“Crowley. That is not what I meant. Cease your pity party this instant and pay attention.” Aziraphale had That Tone; the one that was more prim than Nanny Ashtoreth, crisper than a grocer’s best produce, and could command a squadron of angels effortlessly. Crowley’s spine did its best impression of vertical without even consulting him. Which just made it even more blatantly obvious how annoyed he was at being told to ‘cease his pity party’ when he looked up at his Angel.

“‘Pity party?’” he hissed through too many teeth. Curse their agreement to  _ Talk _ ! But as he looked at Aziraphale, his yellow eyes got trapped by steely blue ones. And they were not unkind.

In a tone that clanged swords, plucked harps, and could have commanded Crowley to happily do anything. (Well, he’d happily do anything, anyway, really. The point is…) Aziraphale said directly into Crowley’s eyes: “I meant every word I said _ in our dreams _ , Crowley. I am yours. You are the most beautiful creature in all Creation. I love you more than anything.”

Each sentence struck gently at Crowley’s heart; his shell cracked and crumbled, disintegrated by acceptance, shredded into wisps by his Angel’s love. Crowley heard some sort of embarrassing keen start in the back of his nasal cavity. 

The endless sea eyes continued: “I want to hold you. I want to be romantic with you. I want to be sexual with you. Crowley, I want all of you that you are,  _ just as you are _ . I. Love. You.”

Watery eyesight? Crying -- bless it,  _ now _ the waterworks start?! Crowley tried to hide his tears by swiping at his face. Aziraphale didn’t acknowledge it, so maybe he was safe, but… Angel stood up, walked over to the couch, sat down angled toward him so their knees touched and Aziraphale could clearly see his face. 

“Do you understand, now, my dear boy?” his Angel finished, in a voice filled with emotion. “I’m sorry that my dreams pushed into your safe space. Clearly, I need to work on voicing my desires better so that I don’t unintentionally do that again. I hope that you don’t feel I violated any --”

“Woah, Angel!” Aziraphale was trying to apologize to him for his -- their? -- fantasies, somehow thinking that it had been non-consensual… Crowley had to stop that right away, and make sure he drove that point home. “Hold on. We don’t know who started what dream, or how, for one.”

That switched off the worry circuit in his Angel’s brain and switched on the analysis circuit. He could see Aziraphale begin to catalog his points. Good. Angel really had no idea how adorable Crowley found that, did he?

“Two,  _ you _ are my safe space, not sleep. I’m sleeping around you because you’re safe and I feel safe around you, not because sleep is safe and I feel safe in sleep and just happen to be around you. Yeah?”

The was a briefly crinkled brow as Aziraphale untangled the sentence, but then a brighter smile than had been present since this entire conversation started spread across Aziraphale’s face. Good. That was a good direction, Crowley needed to continue in that direction. Happy Angel Direction.

“And three.” Crowley blinked. He was sure there’d been a ‘three’ when he started. He started talking, his mouth usually had a better idea of where it needed to go than his brain did at times like these. “Three, you could not possibly have violated anything or anyone because I --”  _ oh. Fuck. Well, best do it with style: _ “... I very much want to do all of those things with you -- and probably quite a few more, um, ngk -- outside of dreaming. So. There. Yep. Right.” Crowley didn’t think he’d get a Wahoo for that point.

Aziraphale’s amazing mind completed the list of proof points as to Why Aziraphale Was Not At Fault -- Crowley could see it happen, just there, behind the eyes:  _ click _ , Result: Aziraphale Is Not At Fault -- and then his Angel’s entire face shifted. Where eyes had been lit up at listening to Crowley’s thoughts, they now supernova-ed in delight. Cheeks flushed pink again, and the Angel’s lovely mouth opened in an excited “O”.

Aziraphale even wiggled forward in his excitement. “You do? You do! Oh, Crowley! I can? We can? You really want to?” He practically pounced onto Crowley’s hands, interlacing their fingers and pulling their linked hands up under his chin. “My dear, that is… it’s just… Splendid! Perfectly splendid! Thank you!”

“Thank me? Thank Somebody that we decided to do this awful talking about Big Feelings thing. Angel, I feel wrung out, I’m tired, and there’s not nearly enough alcohol or caffeine in my bloodstream. My heart won’t let me keep it from pounding like some sort of jackhammer, and I apparently have no control over my lungs anymore. Please, for the love of Something -- and I can’t believe I’m saying this -- hold me and kiss me and tell me this is all real and it’s going to be alright. I can’t handle any more surprises right now.” With that, Crowley decided to tug Aziraphale closer to him, via the tightly clutched double-handhold that Aziraphale still maintained.

Ever the bastard, his Angel grinned. “For the love of  _ you _ , of course, my dear.”  _ Gah. Gonna make me blush, _ thought Crowley. Said Angel then proceeded to tip him over on the couch and snuggle into him. Side by side, facing each other, hands held, foreheads pressed, lips brushing. And it was comfortable, and comforting, and if the couch perhaps stretched a bit to make sure it was large enough to ensure that both of its immortal beings were happy on it, then that was only reasonable. Aziraphale spoke: ‘“For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night,/ In the stillness, in the autumn moonbeams, his face was inclined toward me,/ And his arm lay lightly around my breast -- And that night I was happy.’”

Crowley could feel how Aziraphale’s lips brushed against his as his Angel spoke. It was perfect. “Walt Whitman? Angel, I refuse to have this perfect moment intruded upon by Walt bloody Whitman. And don’t -- don’t. Don’t you dare pick another one that’s worse. I’m begging you.” His grin and soft amber-lit eyes let his Angel know that perhaps quoting poetry at him was effective.

“Forgive me, my dear,” Aziraphale smiled. “You prefer the funny ones, and Mr. Whitman is decidedly not in that category. Perhaps…”

Perhaps it was his inner serpent that made him do it. For whatever reason, Crowley decided a glare was insufficient and chose to playfully bite Aziraphale’s nose, instead.

“... Apparently not. ‘Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.’ Ouch! Crowley!” Aziraphale giggled, which satisfactorily kept him from reciting all of old Will’s works, one of the funny ones or not.

“Kissing, Angel,” Crowley murmured, smiling. “What about kissing?”

“Hmm. Yes, kissing. I like that idea.” He wiggled a bit, then set deeds to words.

Later, Crowley got his Wahoo. And, of course, the Angel always gets what he wants.

**Author's Note:**

> Time scale: Anything below 5 years must feel very brief, indeed, to an eternal being, don’t you think? I used 12 breaths per minute to calculate how many days had passed. I also used a heart rate of 60 beats per minute for calculations. Knowing that Crowley forgets to blink, I used Aziraphale’s blink rate of precisely 20 blinks per minute for the last calculation. (Aziraphale had to count how many blinks humans made, you see. And then he just had to set that number into his corporeal awareness with a +/- time variable so that humans would be less frightened by his forgetting to blink enough or blinking too regularly. Crowley, on the other hand, simply doesn’t care. Sunglasses help, of course.)
> 
> Pronouns/Genders/Efforts/Etc: Truly, I felt less like I chose the configurations on these and more like I just wrote down what the characters asked for. Using he/him for both Aziraphale and Crowley is consistent with canon, so that’s a thing. Switching Efforts seemed reasonable for a being as into the various sensory experiences of the world as Aziraphale is. (Plus, he said what he was wearing for each.) As for Crowley: Crowley does so enjoy being a bit of a cheeky shite, doesn’t he? He simply would NOT let me write anything that would in any way imply what Effort he was or was not wearing at any given point in time. I asked him if he wanted me to use they/them, instead of he/him, but he basically gave me a I-don’t-give-a-F wave and told me to use whatever the original Authors did. So, then.
> 
> As an interesting aside: I had figured out the actual reason they began dream sharing, and just couldn’t work it into the story without it getting off into a Different Thing Altogether. Turns out, it had nothing to do with repressed desires, unspoken needs, or anything else angsty! It’s a simple error Aziraphale made in his wards when incorporating some of Crowley’s work into them. Can you imagine how incredibly complex it would be, metaphysically juggling all that bound (and opposing!) energy and then carving it into your home with words and symbols?! Aziraphale is a BAMF, I’m just saying. And Crowley was being particularly imaginative with that ward sequence, too. So… yeah. Proofread your wards, kids, or you might end up sharing some seriously erotic dreams with your datemate. You’ve been warned.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed! Thank you for reading! Your kudos and comments literally make my day go from “bleh” to “yay”, so thank you thank you thank you for any and all of them! I hope you are all well and safe!


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